


The Lost Wednesday

by Tindomerelhloni



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Amnesia, Bit of Fluff, Doctor Watson, Injured Sherlock, John Watson - Freeform, John caring for Sherlock, John dating Mary, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, NSFW, Sex, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock's "death", Smut, Someone tell me to go to bed. I need to go to work in 7 hours, Too tired to tag., bit of feels, drug induced amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:23:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He lost an entire Wednesday once" </p><p>Well, here we have that. And more. </p><p>(I'm rubbish at summaries... so just... give it a read. Its a tad better than I make it sound, I promise.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock hated Monday's. They were the day John paraded around in that horrid pair of pants. The red ones. The ones that meant the washing needed to be done. The ones that sent Sherlock dashing into the loo to take an exceptionally long shower.

It was now Monday, and John was currently bending over the bin, muttering something about how Sherlock needed to clean up his experiments before acid ate through the bin, again.

"Mmhmm" Sherlock agreed non committally. Hoping that his show of agreement would keep the shorter man bent in such a manner that a patch of his scarlet red pants practically waved at him over the waistband of his pajamas. How he loved that John only wore a dressing gown after showering. (And _only_ a dressing gown after showering.) John righted himself and with a loud exaggerated sigh lifted the bag out of the bin.

"I'll just clean up your mess then. Shall I?" Sherlock said nothing, but simply glared at John through slanted eyes.

"Right..." John huffed and disappeared down the stairs. Sherlock flung himself from his chair, eyed his violin with half interest and half disgust. (The song he had been composing was not agreeing with him, and he swore his violin was mocking him at this current moment.)

Sherlock flopped down on the sofa, content to sulk the day away. He half closed his eyes, placed his fingers beneath his chin and pouted. Nothing in his mind palace seemed to be of any interest. He was not in the mood to contemplate on how different tools made different marks on bone. Nor did he feel like texting Lestrade for a case, as the DI would make him fill out paperwork from the previous case first.

 _"Come on, Sherlock. What does John do when he's bored."_ Flashes of John's computer history came to mind. _"Porn. He would watch porn. I could watch porn... No. Boring."_ The last time he had watched porn it had ended with him texting Lestrade and telling him how the man in the video was being abused by the producer, and now all of NSY knew he preferred gay porn.

No. Porn was out of the question. But now his libedo was interested. He felt the scratch that wouldn't go away until it was itched. At that very moment John pranced (okay stomped) back into the flat. The front of his pajamas covered in something green and foul smelling. He was yelling something at Sherlock, who was only paying attention to the angry man's body, not his words.

"It's laundry day anyway..." Sherlock muttered with a shrug of his shoulders. Apparently this was not what John had wanted to hear. John stormed down the hall and slammed the bathroom door shut. Minutes later Sherlock heard the telltale sound of the shower. He closed his eyes and tried to slip into his mind palace but his vision was cluttered with the image of John Watson. Showering.

John's perfect, if not slightly battle worn, body tempted him. Visions of him, dog tags sticking to his wet body, him soaping himself up, running a flannel over his body, and thoroughly enjoying his shower sent Sherlock's mind, and a certain part of his anatomy, into a tizzy. Eventually the sound of the water turning off shattered Sherlock's vision and he was keenly aware of a slight problem. If John returned to his bedroom through the sitting room, or simply sat in his chair (which was the most likely scenario), he would become very aware of Sherlock's arousal. Sherlock did not have time to retreat to his bedroom so he did the only thing he could. He walked, fixing himself as best as he could along the way, to the window and picked up his violin.

He'd only just positioned himself facing the window when John came to sit in his chair. The sound of the morning paper told Sherlock that John had no intention of returning upstairs anytime soon, and the knowledge that John was only wearing his dressing gown did little to help Sherlock's problem.

Eventually Sherlock's problem subsided. And with his usual flair he placed his violin down and sat in his chair, eyeing John like a child eyeing the candy section at the market.

"Alright?" John asked, not bothering to look up.

"Yes. Fine." Sherlock muttered. Not liking the fact that he was so openly gaping at John.

"Any word on a case?" John flipped a page, still not bothering to look up.

"No. There's paperwork to be filled out first....tedious." Sherlock sighed and drummed his fingers against the arms of his chair.

"We should go out. For dinner." He finally blurted out, surprising both himself and John.

"Come again?" John looked up with an amused smirk.

"Dinner." Sherlock repeated, hating that John was making him say it again. "You and me. We should invite Molly and Lestrade." He quickly added, hoping to save himself.

"So, a double date then?" John was doing his very best to keep the laughter back. And Sherlock had to give him credit. He was doing a remarkable job.

"No!" Sherlock snarled, and in a blue blur he moved past John. "Hope you saved some hot water for once!"

"Don't forget to shave, you know, for your date tonight!" John was now howling with laughter and Sherlock was pretty sure he had already, or was in the process of, texting Lestrade and Molly.

The rest of the day was horrible. John was in such a good mood that he didn’t even bother to yell at Sherlock when he found a ear floating in what appeared to be liquefied fat in the microwave. Dinner was even more horrible. He was forced to watch Molly bat her eyelashes at Lestrade, who apparently was oblivious to her affection for him despite his obvious pining over her. Dinner ended when Sherlock stood up, looked Lestrade in the eye and simply said. “For God’s sake! Fuck her!” And stormed off. He heard John’s hurried apologies for his behaviour, some bills rustling as John placed cash on the table, and the scrape of his chair as John hurried to follow his flatmate.

That night in bed, Sherlock decided to take his own advice. He’d been pining over John for nearly two years now. And with Moriarty now free, having recently received a ‘Not Guilty’ verdict, Sherlock knew his time at Baker Street was nearing an end.  Moriarty would stop at nothing until Sherlock was gone, or worse, dead. His time with John was growing to an end, and it was a now or never situation. He would act soon, Wednesday in fact. John had Wednesday’s off, so no one at the clinic would miss him if he kept a certain doctor in bed with him all day.

There was a catch, however. For the plan he and Mycroft had set up, in the event that Moriarty did, and of course he would, come after him, Sherlock needed the dynamic of his and John’s relationship to stay as it was now. If John was romantically attached to Sherlock, then John would never move on. He would be crushed when Sherlock left, and he would never stop searching for him, dead or alive. No, Sherlock needed John to remain a friend. So that meant Sherlock needed to make John forget about their time together. Easy enough, for a graduate chemist, and for Sherlock Holmes. Any drug in the benzodiazepine group would do the trick, and could be administered easily enough in a cup of tea.

So, Sherlock set together a plan, as he lay alone in his bedroom. He planned, and plotted, and made a mental list of anything he would need to purchase tomorrow. Snacks and bottled water, for one, as he had no intention of leaving the flat, let alone his bedroom, once he had John Watson to himself.

Tuesday came, and went. Sherlock had everything he needed hidden in his room. Aside from the perishable food he had placed in the fridge, of course. John had been at the clinic, so there were no strange looks when he came home with his arms ladened with food, lube, condoms, and perhaps a few sex toys. Instead, John had simply raised an eyebrow when he opened the fridge, poured himself a glass of milk and sat down next to Sherlock on the sofa.

“Thanks for getting the shopping. I was too knackered when I got out of work.” He sighed and leaned back, eyeing the book on Sherlock’s lap. “Houdini, huh? Brilliant how he could get out of anything…”

And that was that. The night passed just like any other night. They stayed up late that night, and John fell asleep on the sofa, a mere two inches from Sherlock’s shoulder, as they watched a film about honeybees. Sherlock got up, placed a blanket around his sleeping friend and played softly on his violin until John woke up, bid him goodnight, and retired to his room for the evening.

Wednesday morning dawned, and it was a rainy damp mid October day. Perfect for Sherlock’s plan. Despite waking early, John was already awake. He could hear the soft hiss of the kettle going, and then the flush of the toilet. Sherlock looked around his room once more, ensuring that all was in order then, donning his mouse coloured dressing gown stepped into the kitchen to greet his friend.

“Morning.” John glanced up then continued humming as he took down a second mug from the cupboard. “You’re up early.” John fixed him a cup of tea and slid it across the table at him.

“Busy day.” Sherlock murmured, desperately needed the caffeine.

“Off to Bart’s then?” Sherlock eyed John. There had been an air of disappointment in his voice when he asked, though he had tried to mask it.

“No.” Sherlock said simply enough, and sucked down half his tea in one gulp. Thankfully he took so much milk in his tea that it was no longer scalding hot, and he avoided looking like a fool by burning himself.

“Oh.” John’s face seemed to lighten up a bit and he set about making toast. Four pieces, Sherlock noted. He scraped butter over all four pieces, strawberry jam on two, and Sherlock’s favorite blackberry on the others. He placed all four pieces on his plate and sat down at the table, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze. This was a game they played when Sherlock had gone more than three days without eating in front of John. John would prepare himself toast, and Sherlock some, but keep it all on his plate, as John’s food was always more appealing to Sherlock. He snatched up the two pieces clearly meant for him and ignored John’s smirk.

“Thank you…” He mumbled as he stuffed a bite of toast into his mouth. John simply gave a little nod and they continued on in silence, both of them checking their mobiles for any possible cases. To Sherlock’s relief, there wasn’t anything above a 8, and on a day like this it would take a  9 to get John to leave the flat.

“John…” Sherlock looked up over the second piece of toast. “I have a proposal for you, and I just ask that you hear me out, and keep an open mind.” John placed his mobile down and looked up, eyebrows arched.  “I propose, that we run an experiment of sorts.” Sherlock realized this might come off better if he said _“Let’s have sex”_ without a mouthful of toast, so he swallowed and put his breakfast back down on John’s plate.

“What kind of experiment, Sherlock?” John’s interest was clearly peaked, and Sherlock noted a bit of hope between those dark blue eyes.

“Us…” Sherlock began, suddenly finding this a lot harder to suggest than he liked to admit, but John was patient and simply waited for him to continue. “You and I…”

“Yes?” John folded his arms on the table and leaned forward.

“In bed together. Romantically.” Sherlock blushed slightly.

“Sexually?” John asked, the corner of his lips twitching up in a smile.

“Sexually.” Sherlock agreed, forcing himself to hold John’s stare trying not to blush further. “But there is a catch…”

“Of course there is. What kind of catch?” John leaned back in the chair and sipped his tea.

“Moriarty…” Sherlock began, suddenly feeling his tongue loosen up as words poured out of his mouth. “Moriarty is missing, but I fear he won’t be gone for good. And when he comes back, which will be soon, he’ll come back for revenge. He won’t stop until I’m dead. We both know that. And I need to make him think I am dead, if it comes down to it. Mycroft and I have a plan, but that plan is vital on the dynamic of our relationship now. If you and I were to become involved… the plan would crumble.”

“So what are you suggesting, Sherlock?” John asked gently, leaning forward on the table again, this times with his hands clasped together in front of him.

“I am proposing a day, for the two of us, today in fact… A… hall pass, so to speak. A get out of jail free card…”

“Yes, I get it… continue.” John cut in.

“But, I’ll need to make you forget it. I need to make you forget today, if you agree.” Sherlock said, if not a bit sadly.

“So, fuck me and then drug me?” John leaned back, sucked a breath between his teeth and shook his head.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Sherlock nodded his head. “And then, if it’s safe, when I come back, we can revisit this.”

“Can’t you take me with you?” John asked, his mind putting together the pieces of the puzzle that Sherlock wasn’t telling.

“No… Moriarty will certainly have you watched. This is the only way it’ll work” Sherlock smiled weakly and stood from the table. “I’ll give you time to think it over.”

“Sherlock,” John said cautiously. “I don’t need time to think…” he stood and walked to Sherlock’s side, placing a hand on Sherlock’s forearm. “But I have one condition.”

“Anything John. Anything within my power, it's yours.”  

“Promise me you’ll come back to me.” John asked it with such sincerity that Sherlock’s heart nearly broke. He hated knowing that he needed to erase this memory from John, that John wouldn’t have his promise to live with, to help him carry on.

“I promise, John. As much as it is in my power, I promise. Nothing but death will stop me from coming back to you. It’s always you, John Watson… always you…” His eyes grew wide in surprise as John stood on his tiptoes and pressed their lips together for their first kiss. Sherlock leaned into it, wrapped his arms around John’s back and hummed happily as John took charge of the kiss. John’s tongue swept over his bottom lip, begging for entrance, and who was he to deny John of anything he wanted. He opened his mouth and moaned as John’s tongue swept over his.

When John finally pulled away for breath he swept his thumb over Sherlock’s jaw. He looked up into Sherlock’s eyes and asked the question that Sherlock was dreading to hear.

“I won't remember any of this?”

“No.” Sherlock shook his head and explained the plan. John nodded slowly, took Sherlock’s hand and led him down the hall to his own bedroom.

“We have roughly 15 hours together… I plan on enjoying each and every second of it.”

The day past better than Sherlock had ever dared hope for. He and John spent most of it wrapped in each other’s arms. Sherlock was careful not to leave any marks on John that would arouse the Doctor’s suspicions, but he lavished John with enough love and attention to make the man scream his name until he’d nearly lost his voice. Sherlock took as many pictures as he dared, and saved them to an encrypted drive. It was 11pm when they both reluctantly decided to notice the time.

“Right…” John said sadly, kissing Sherlock on the cheek. “Guess it’s time.” John sucked in a deep breath, sat up, squared his shoulders and fondly ruffled Sherlock’s hair. “Let me sleep with you tonight? Let me fall asleep in your arms, just once?” His voice wavered slightly and he blinked heavily a couple of times.

“But… you’ll ask questions in the morning…” Sherlock nuzzled his head against John’s hand and sighed.

“Tell me I got injured on a case. Got hit in the head with something, a lead pipe, anything. You wanted to keep me close for observation as I refused medical attention, and I was too heavy to carry up a second flight of stairs.” John pleaded, leaning down and peppering Sherlock with kisses.

“Yes, alright…” Sherlock kissed John back then swung his legs out of bed. They both dressed into pajamas and shuffled slowly into the kitchen hand in hand. Sherlock started the kettle and began cleaning up the evidence of the day. The kettle whistled, Sherlock prepared two cups of tea, and he couldn’t help feeling like he was throwing away the one thing that made him truly happy. In one cup he dropped a pill. _“Fitting…”_  he thought as he watched it dissolve. _“Much like today…”_ He handed John the cup along with another pill. “Sleeping pill…” He explained. “To ensure you sleep.”  John placed the cup down on the table and fiercely wrapped his arms around Sherlock.

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes. Always have, always will. Don’t you dare forget that.” John roughly kissed him on the lips, their tears staining the other’s face as they both broke down in each other’s arms.

“I won’t, John. I promise.” Sherlock gave John one last teary-eyed kiss then pressed the cup of tea into back into John’s hands. John nodded, and without a single complaint, or any begging, placed the sleeping pill in his mouth and downed the cup in one large gulp.

“John… I love you too.” Sherlock blinked away the tears and held John’s face in his hands.

“I know… I’ve always known, though it’s nice to hear it..” John smiled sadly and led the way back to Sherlock’s bedroom. They had time for one more quick romp in the sheets before the pull of the sleeping pill made it impossible for John to stay awake. With a sad sigh, John replaced his pajama bottoms and curled up in Sherlock’s arms.

“Thanks for today… I might not remember it tomorrow, but.. thanks.” John looked up and softly kissed Sherlock while running a hand over the side of his face.

“There will be more days like this, John…” Sherlock kissed John back and wrapped a thin hand around John’s neck. He peppered John with soft, shallow kisses, and soon John’s breathing indicated that he was fast asleep. “I’m so sorry, my love…” He kissed John’s forehead and silently cried himself to sleep wondering if it had been worth it. _“To know love, but not have it… Was it worth it?”_ He would find, months later, than it had been worth it. That it was the sole thought and promise of John Watson’s love that kept him going during those bleak days of imprisonment. That without these memories to lose himself in, he never would have survived.

  

* * *

 

Sherlock awoke first, John was still asleep, curled up in his arms with a smile on his face. For one fleeting moment Sherlock wondered if John remembered the events of yesterday, but when John woke up and looked around at his surroundings with a confused look Sherlock relaxed.

“Relax, John…” He said, trying to sound convincing. “You’re alright now, we’re safe. Do you remember anything from yesterday?” Sherlock sat up, and tried to ignore the evidence of his desire that was straining for attention between his legs.

“N...No…” John said groggily as he scratched his head. “What happened?”

“We were on a case, you got hit on the head. I say we leave that one out of the blog...” Sherlock explained, and breathed a sigh of relief when John believed his own lie.

“I’ll make us some breakfast.” Sherlock fought the urge to lean over and kiss John, and instead rolled out of bed, grabbed his dressing gown and hurried out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock had been dead for five months now. Spring was here, and John had been cooped up in his flat for too long. He grabbed his coat, a scarf, keys and his wallet, and set out for the first walk he’d taken since the night Sherlock fell. He walked aimlessly, letting his feet take him where they would. And that’s how, for the first time in four months, he ended up on Baker Street. Without knowing what he was looking at, he looked up at the windows of his former home.

Realization dawned on him, and the urge to flee bubbled up in his chest. He fought the urge, and stared. Life had been good there, better than ever, in fact. Sherlock had… Sherlock… His name swirled around in John’s mind like an echo. John closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. Flashes of something, seemingly familiar greeted his closed eyes. Images of him, and Sherlock, together… But not in the normal, go out for a drink with your best mate, together… No… this was different. The image that came to him was this

_ John was on his back, smiling up at the curly haired man who was clearly riding him. They were whispering endearments to each other. Promises to always remember their love for each other. And god, did Sherlock look gorgeous, bobbing up and down, moaning and licking his lips out of pleasure. The sweat glistened off of his brow, and his eyes blew open wide as they came in unison, each calling the other’s name. _

John opened his eyes and the vision was gone. He was left alone on Baker Street, blinking wildly.

“Delusions of a lonely man, Watson.” He told himself as he cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from the windows before he became a blubbering mess. “Sherlock doesn’t… didn’t… feel things like that.” He reminded himself as he quickly walked back in the direction he had come from.

* * *

 

It was two months after that before John had another delusion. It was Wednesday, his day off, and he let himself sleep in late. He wandered through is tiny flat and made tea without realizing it. He forced himself to make a piece of toast, smothered it in blackberry jam, and took the plate and his tea back to bed with him. He managed to eat half of his toast and most of his tea before he dissolved into a puddle of tears on his bed.

Sherlock's belstaff was laying on the bed beside him, and he curled up, wrapping his arms around it as if it were Sherlock. He lay there, sobbing, allowing himself to grieve for the first time in months, and surprised himself by kissing the collar of the jacket. It had felt, natural... And if he was honest with himself, he wanted to do it again.

And he did. He kissed the coarse fabric as if his life depended on it, imagining that it was Sherlock. And this time, his delusion came in the form of a fantasy. John allowed his mind to wander, and it wandered in the direction of having Sherlock in his bed, all to himself.

_ He was leaning over Sherlock, hands planted on the bed firmly on either side of Sherlock's head. They were rutting together, their erections pressed together, straining against the friction caused by their movements. Sherlock was whimpering his name, begging for more, begging for  _ _John to fuck him._

_"No... Not yet, luv. I want to see you cum like this... We still have all day together." He said kindly, pressing a kiss just below Sherlock's ear. Sherlock keened and thrust his hips header against John, moments later he cried out and dragged his nails down John's back as warm liquid splashed across his stomach. The sight of Sherlock completely undone brought John to his own climax and with one more snap of his hips he came crashing down on Sherlock, twitching through his own orgasm._

John snapped back to reality just in time to roll onto his side, narrowly avoiding covering Sherlock's jacket with his cum. He lay panting, surprise at himself. His fantasy had felt so real, so familiar, so... Natural. He hadn't even realized he'd shed his pajamas and was humping Sherlock's jacket.

"Still have all day? Wonder what that means? Bit odd..." John pondered on this for a while, but simply chalked it up to the crazed fantasies of a man desperate to keep Sherlock alive any way he could. He fell into a fitful sleep, filled with dreams about Sherlock, and woke later to the phone ringing. It was Mycroft, checking to see if he'd killed himself yet. He answered the phone and pressed it to his ear

"Not dead..." He mumbled. "yet."

"Amusing, I'm sure." Mycroft's snide voice came through the line.

"Anything else?" John sighed, hoping to get rid of the man as quickly as possible.

"No. Until next time. Take care, John."

John tossed the phone aside and sighed. Mycroft had taken to calling him on his days off, which was rare now. John had gotten into the habit of picking up as many shifts as the clinic would allow. Busy work, he said. Anything to keep his mind occupied.

John rolled onto his back and scrubbed both hands over his face. He briefly thought about getting out of bed, but after being unable to find a point he simply rolled over to his side with a grunt. He swung a hand over, reaching over to his bedside table and after a few minutes of floundering around pathetically, his fingers finally closed around the tv remote. 

With a hiss of electricity the tv flicked on, John had to blink at the sudden brightness, and once his eyes adjusted he looked sadly at the screen. The man in the advert was wearing a long dark coat, with a blue scarf, and all John could think of was Sherlock. He let out a soft whimper and pulled Sherlock's coat over his body.   
  
"Why is...." John sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, "everything reminding me of him?" And for the second time that day he lay in bed, allowing the fantasy of Sherlock to take over His mind. This time the scene was slightly different, from the feel of it, John could almost imagine this being their first time together.   
  
_He was lying flat on his back, knees bent, legs falling to either side. Sherlock was between his legs, blankets wrapped around his thin frame. With a playful smile, and a wink, Sherlock bent down and wrapped his velvet lips around the head of his prick. Long, thing fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and John let out a sigh. Sherlock's tongue worked its wicked magic around his member as Sherlock bobbed up and down, chuckling now and again at the noises escaping John's mouth._   
  
John stuck a hand down his pants and stroked himself in unison with phantom Sherlock's movements. It wasn't long before John was panting through the fantasy as images of Sherlock's steel blue eyes looked up at him from between his legs. Sherlock's expression was clearly begging him for his cum.   
  
"Sh...Sherlock..." John sunk his fingers into Sherlock's imaginary hair and lost himself to the fantasy. With a violent shake, and a loud shout, John imagined he was cumming into Sherlock's mouth. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, holding onto the fantasy for as long as he could.   
  
_He watched as Sherlock swallowed his cum and finished by licking him clean. He then slowly crawled up the length of John's body, evidence of his ejaculate still dripping off of his glistening cock. He buried his head against John's neck with a content laugh and sighed._   
  
_"Thank you for today...." Sherlock kissed his neck and his fingers drew patterns on John's naked chest._  
  
 _"Mm... That was... Incredible. I just wish I was going to remember this tomorrow."_

_John woke an hour later with his arms wrapped around his fluffiest pillow. With a groan he sat up, stretched his stiff limbs. He looked at the clock and decided it was a good a time as any for lunch. As John sat sipping his tea, and staring at his half eaten sandwich, he pondered what his fantasy self had meant when he said “I just wish I was going to remember this tomorrow.” That seemed a bit odd, even for a fantasy version of himself. With a sigh he shook his head and vowed to keep busy as to avoid having another one of these delusions._

* * *

 

And busy he stayed. For the next three months, the only free time John had was when someone finally made him go home to sleep. If he wasn’t working at the clinic he was volunteering at the local urgent care, or offering what services he could at the homeless shelters in his area. And this worked for him. At least it did until John burnt himself out to the point where he caught a nasty cold and was forced to take two weeks off.

During those two weeks, John’s fever laced mind was full of visions of Sherlock. Flashes of Sherlock’s sweaty body, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom, slowly riding him until they were both crying the other’s name. Or of Sherlock on all fours, grunting like a wild animal as John bore into him from behind. Or his favorite, moments where he and Sherlock were simply talking. Whispering into each other’s ear fondly, bodies curled around each other, fitting as if they were meant to be together. John stopped fighting these visions. Instead he gave into them, seeing them as his way of keeping Sherlock alive. Born out of the regret he had for never taking that final step with Sherlock.

He spent so much time in one fever induced state of delusion that by the end of his sick leave he had taken to talking to Sherlock as if he were actually there. He told himself it wasn’t healthy, that no sane man would talk to an imaginary copy of his dead best friend. But he found himself to be less lonely, started smiling at coworkers again. He started taking less shifts, and actually went out to the pub with Lestrade and some old army mates most weekends. Mycroft called less and less, until eventually he stopped calling altogether.

Finally, it seemed, John Watson had caught a break. He appeared to be happy again. Yes, the passing stranger with dark curly hair would remind John of his friend, and John would whisper “Miss you.” quietly, but he would square his shoulders and carry on.

“I’ve been through war,” He’d tell himself. “Not the first time you’ve watched a mate die. Might be the last. But life goes on. You’ve had your time to grieve, Watson, time to man up and move on. After all, didn't the Beatles say it best? Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da Life goes on, Brah!"

So, John plodded on. It wasn't easy, and he wasn't always his normal chipper self, but soon life seemed more bearable. Although, for some inexplicable reason, on cold rainy days John found himself wanting nothing more than to curl up in his bed with imaginary Sherlock. And Sherlock would always welcome him into his open arms with a smile and a kiss.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The summer came and went with very little fanfare. Halloween was just around the corner, and the new girl at the clinic, a nurse by the name of Mary, and proposed that they all dress up on Halloween. John laughed it off at first, but when everyone else in the office seemed to think it was a good idea he good naturedly agreed muttering his thanks when a laughing Mary offered to help him go shopping for a costume as apparently wearing his fatigues wasn't a proper costume.

"Tonight! After work!" She said laughing, as she sipped on a cup of tea while leaning on his office door.

"Tonight?" John made a show of checking his schedule while trying to think of an excuse as to why tonight just wouldn't work.

"Yes, tonight! Of course you're free." She added, seeing right through his act.

"Alright... Yes, fine. Tonight." John huffed his agreement and gave her a weak smile.

"We'll have to stop at the pub first. I'm a right bitch when I'm hungry, and god knows you could use a drink to loosen up a bit." She winked and left his office before he had time to say no.

John bent down and smacked his head on his desk with a groan.

"This is a fucking date, Watson, and you walked right into it." There was no secret that Mary had been openly flirting with him since the day she arrived as a transfer from some small town doctors office in the country. John had, or so he thought, shot her down nicely and had hoped that would be the end of it. After having so many sexual fantasies of Sherlock, he wasn't quite sure where he stood on the kinsey scale, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to give Sherlock up just yet.

At 5:05 he looked up for his paperwork when a tapping sounded on the doorframe. Mary already had her coat and scarf on, purse slung over her shoulder, indicating that she was ready.

"Food?" She asked with a playful smile.

"Right.. Bitch." John tried to joke but he realized too late that this was the wrong way to go about cracking a joke. "Christ. Sorry... Bit, rusty." But Mary, God bless her simply laughed.

"Yes, so come on." She picked up his jacket off a nearby hook and tosses it at him. John caught it it's a smirk and gathered up his keys. He followed Mary out of the office and was about to hail a cab when she jingled her keys and called him from the car park.

"Come on, John, we’ll just take my car." She turned and unlocked her car. John stood frozen in his spot for a moment. It was strange, hearing his first name. He hadn't heard it in months, everyone at work either called him Doctor Watson, or simply Watson. After a moment of standing still, feeling like a fool, John hurried to the car and climbed in.

Two drinks later John found himself relaxed and actually enjoying himself. He had Mary bent over the table with laughter as he told her the story of the time he and Sherlock had dressed as ninjas for a case.

"No way that actually happened!" Mary chortled and wiped a tear for her eye.

"Swear to god!" John laughed, holding his hands up in the air. "Wrote it on and put it on my blog, though Sherlock threatened me with death if I posted any pictures. Think I called it 'The Geek Interpreter' or something like that." They both sat laughing for a few moments, sipping on their drinks. John casually checked the time and blinked.

"Best be going if we want to do some shopping. Stores will close in an hour."

Three shops, and 10 totally humiliating costumes later, John finally walked out of the third store, holding a bag, and grinning.

"Shall I bring you home." Mary asked kindly as they walked to her car.

"Uh... I'm only three blocks from home, I think I'll walk."  John surprised himself with what he did next. He leaned forward and kissed Mary's cheek in goodbye. "Thanks for the night out, it was quite fun." He stepped back and couldn't wipe the foolish grin off his face.

"Any time, John." Mary smiled, and John couldn't tell if she was blushing, or it is was just the cool night air that gave her face a bit of color. "See you tomorrow."

"Right, see you tomorrow." John nodded, stuffed his hands in his pocket, and walked towards home. His spirits were high as he walked through the door. He flicked on the lights and looked around the small flat.

"Sherlock! You'll never believe it! I've been on a date!" He called out, tossing his keys onto the table. He sighed happily as his fantasy version of Sherlock materialized out of thin air and draped his arms around his neck.

"She finally asked you then?" Sherlock kissed his cheek and held onto John, walking with him as John moved to make a cup of tea.

"Yeah, fell right for it too." John laughed and absentmindedly prepared two cups of tea, the one with sugar sat untouched on the counter as John walked across the small multi purposes room and sat on the sofa he sipped his tea and hummed happily when Sherlock curled up on his lap, purring like a cat. He told Sherlock the details of the night, even telling him about the kiss.

"You won't be needing me anymore..." Sherlock sighed sadly, wide eyes looking up at him.

"Nonsense." John scowled at him, "I'll always need you. You know that."

"So you'll just talk to me, out loud, when she's around? Hmm? I'm sure that'll go over well..." Sherlock sulked and glared up at him. John knew that this was his subconscious, warning him that this unhealthy relationship with his dead friend/lover needed to end. With a small sigh he sunk his hand into Sherlock's hair.

"Not ready to give you up yet. Still need you." He whispered quietly.

"It's her or me, John. You know that." Phantom Sherlock, clearly the logical side of John's brain, reasoned with him.

"Yeah, but it's just one date. Don't need to choose yet." John sighed, ending the argument by falling silent. After a short while, when his tea had gone cold he stood and looked at the sofa.

"Going to bed. Are you joining me tonight?" Phantom Sherlock hadn't slept with him in a few nights, and John needed him tonight. He secretly knew that their time together was in fact limited, and he wanted to spend as much time with him as he could. Sherlock nodded, rose off the sofa and followed John into his small bedroom.

"Baker Street is yours if you want it..." Sherlock looked around the room in disgust before flopping onto the bed. "You can even have my room."

"No. Won't go back there." John said flatly. He stripped out of everything but his pants and crawled into bed, resting on his back so Sherlock could come rest on his chest. Once they were comfortable he pressed a kiss to Sherlock's hair.

"Oh!" He said with a yawn. "Didn't tell you the best bit. My costume, it's a pirate costume."

"Mm I want to see it, tomorrow." Sherlock murmured sleepily.

"Tomorrow..." John agreed before falling into a deep sleep.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally we see Sherlock. I wanted a bit more of him. But as I wrote, I really just felt John's side of it, and didn't feel Sherlock until now.

It had been 1 year, 10 months, and 12 days since Sherlock had faked his death in order to save John. His journey hadn't been easy, but every second of it meant he was that much closer to returning home to John. But now... Oh now he found himself in a situation that he was 87% sure he could not get out of. Yes, 13% was better than 0, but no one escaped a Serbian prison. Not alive, anyway.

He hadn't been allowed to sleep for five days, they had given him enough food and water to keep him alive, but weak, ensuring that if he did escape, he would not go far. He was tortured daily, sometimes for so long that his abusers had to do it in shifts. But, no matter what he went through, Sherlock would not give them what they wanted. He would not risk John Watson's life for a few hours of rest.

He was delirious from exhaustion, pain, and hunger, held up only by the strong chains attached by metal cuffs digging into his wrists. He was bruised, cut, burned, and he was pretty sure that the lead pipe they used on him earlier had broken three of his ribs. But none of that mattered. His pain meant that John was safe.

Sherlock's means of survival quickly became his mind palace. When his abusers walked into his cell, he would slip away and travel back to the Wednesday he spent with John. He must have relived that day hundreds of times. He saw John when he was alone, but John was always just out his reach, his chains preventing him from running to his love. John would whisper to him, telling him to sleep, that he would keep watch for him. He would tell Sherlock that he loved them, and that they'd be together soon, so just hold on.

On one particular night, almost three months into his imprisonment, after Sherlock had undergone a round of grueling "electro-therapy" as the guard so kindly put it, they left Sherlock alone, unchained in his cell. Sherlock curled into a ball and sobbed. He sobbed until he had no more tears left, and then he resigned himself to shake, out of pain and fear of the next day. There would be no break for him, and he knew he couldn't hold on much longer. That night, however, John came to him. And instead of sitting outside his door like normal, John was there, next to him, running a hand over his blood matted hair.

"Oh, Sherlock..." John cried softly, wanting to touch Sherlock, but not willing to do so in fear of hurting him.

"I can't... John I can't." Sherlock began sobbing as he buried his head onto John's lap. "Won't tell them anything, but I can't..."

"Ssshhhh..." John soothed. "I'm here now, my love. Mycroft's sent help." John leaned down and gingerly kissed his forehead. "Sleep, my love. Mycroft will be here in the morning." John slowly ran a hand down the less bruised part of Sherlock's side. "I'll watch over you until morning. Just a little bit more, and then we'll be together."

"I love you..." Sherlock sobbed, shaking violently.

"I love you too." John smiled kindly down at him, softly stroking his hair. "Go to sleep, god knows you deserve it. And Sherlock did sleep. He slept for three blessed hours before John gently woke him, a look of warning plastered over his face.

"I need to go, but I'll be here," John tapped Sherlock forehead, "and here." He tapped just over Sherlock's heart. "See you soon my love." Sherlock nodded, sucked in a deep breath, and prepared himself for whatever his captors had planned for him that day.

"Just a dream... But'sa nice dream..." He thought to himself. It wasn't until he saw Mycroft, slumped in a metal chair in the torture room, that Sherlock realized his mind had been telling him that too much time had gone past, and Mycroft had finally chosen to wade in.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock walked into the restaurant and forced himself not to wince as the tux rubbed against the sores and bruises on his back. He looked around, and forced himself to focus. Nearby a mobile beeps, an expectant father. Sherlock smirked slightly, and told the man the good news, that possibly his wife's contractions had started. He looked around the restaurant and saw John, sitting alone at a table for two. Before he had time to mentally comment on this a waitress dressed in a black tux buzzed by.

"Scuse me, sir." She hurried past him without a second glance.

Sherlock looked around, an idea forming. He could disguise himself as a waiter, and with a small amount of fanfare, surprise John. But Mycroft had said that John planned to propose to Mary tonight, and time was of the essence if Sherlock wanted to stop that. He sucked in a deep breath, held himself in a way that would not show off how much pain he was truly in, (he didn't want John to pity him), and slowly made his way to John's table. He stood next to the empty seat and glanced down, John looked well. Despite the mustache.

"No, look, seriously..." John began, finally lifting his gaze to meet the waiter, about to berate him for the terrible service. "...could you just." John's face dropped. He looked at Sherlock with and expression of complete and utter disbelief.

"Interesting thing, a tuxedo." Sherlock shrugged, understanding how John had mistake him for a waiter. "Lends distinction to friends, and anonymity to waiters."

John's eyes filled with tears, he turned his head to Mary, ducked his head, then stumbled to his feet.

"John?" Mary's confused, yet concerned voice cut through the thick silence that hung over the table.

John momentarily looked up at Sherlock, but as a wave of emotion passed over him he looked at the table breathing heavily. After he was able to get a grip on his emotions he looked up and locked eyes with Sherlock.

"John, what is it? What?" Mary's worried voice cut in again.

John broke bus eye contact with Sherlock and, still in shock, looked at the table, still wondering if this was really Sherlock, or his imagination playing tricks on him.

"Well, short version..." Sherlock said softly, catching John's eye again. "Not dead."

John's face twisted with a strong mixture of pain, shock and anger. Sherlock catching on that John wasn't overjoyed to see him, looked down, feeling a little guilty.

"Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defence, it was very funny." He just wanted to hear John's laugh again, wanted to see the corners of John's eyes crinkle as his smile took over his whole face. He let out a nervous laugh, and when John didn't return the laugh, he looked down. Had he looked up, he would have seen pure and utter murder written on John's face.

"Okay, it’s not a great defense." He tried again.

"Oh no! You’re not..." Mary breathed, finally catching on to what was going on.

"Oh yes." Sherlock glanced at her.

"Oh, my God." She muttered, clearly just as shocked as John, but processing it with a lot less anger.

"Not quite." It was Sherlock's last ditch effort to lighten the mood.

"You died. You jumped off a roof." Mary uttered in disbelief, eyes flicking from Sherlock to John.

"No." He replied."

"You’re dead!" She uttered again, appallingly this time.

"No. I’m quite sure. I checked. Does, er, does yours rub off?" He asked John, motioning to his mustache

John gave a tight little smile that bore no humor whatsoever, instead it sent chills down Sherlock's spine. He couldn't remember ever seeing John this mad before, and he had no idea how to fix it."

Oh my God, oh my God." Mary repeated, anger flickering in her voice. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?

"Okay, John, I’m suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology." Sherlock glanced down nervously and uttered a silent prayer that John would finally say something.

Instead John clenched his left fist, slamming it down so hard on the table that it would be surely bruised for weeks. He hunched over the table again, breathing heavily.

"All right, just ... John? Just keep..." Mary tried to smooth John. It seemed to work slightly, as John pulled in a shaky breath and looked up at Sherlock.

"Two years." He whispered, shaking his head and sucking in another breath. He blew it out between clenched teeth and straightened up again. "Two years." He repeated, moaning before slimming down over his hands again.

"I thought..." He began, but stopped just as suddenly, grunting and gesturing helplessly as Mary stared up at him. John squared his shoulders, straightened and looked back up at Sherlock.

"I thought... you were dead." Body nearly vibrating with anger. "Hmm?

"Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that?" John glared at Sherlock as the detective glanced down a and bit his lip slightly.

"How?" John asked with quiet wrath.

“Wait." Sherlock said, noticing John's body tensing as if he were about to swing a punch. "Before you do anything that you might regret." John let out a half groaning noise. "One question. Just let me ask one question. Um" Sherlock paused as John looked at him, his eyes still of fury. Sherlock stifled a giggle as he gestured to his upper lip. "Are you really gonna keep that?!"

John sucked in one more deep breath and lunged. He gripped Sherlock’s lapels in a death grip and flung him to the floor.. All of John’s pent up anger at the man for leaving him poured out of him, finally having an outlet. John grappled aimlessly, he was just about to wrap his hands around Sherlock’s throat when four waiters pulled him off of Sherlock. He didn’t wait to be kicked out, he grabbed his coat, cast one more glance at Sherlock and walked out of the restaurant.  

Three restaurants, and lots of shouting later, found John, Mary and Sherlock standing outside the latest food establishment they had been kicked out of. John stood at the edge of the sidewalk, one arm outstretched in an attempt to hail down a cab.  Sherlock and Mary’s low voices could be heard from where they stood a ways off, though John couldn’t make out what they were saying. Finally, after what felt like an age, a taxi finally noticed him and the driver pulled up to the curb. John opened the door, leaned in slightly and gave the driver Mary’s address. He waited, with the door wide open, for a few minutes.

“Mary?” He didn’t bother to mask his impatience. He simply stood there, holding the door open for her with an expectant look on his face. She looked once more at Sherlock and then, with a sympathetic look, slid into the cab. But then, to both hers and Sherlock’s surprise, John closed the door, patted the back of the cab, and without a second glance at her, walked over to Sherlock.

John placed both his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and roughly shoved him up against the glass doors behind him. Sherlock made a slight gurgling noise that turned into a broken gasp as John’s lips brushed over his. Tentatively at first, but growing bolder with each passing second, John claimed Sherlock’s lips with his. He flicked his tongue over Sherlock’s lips, tasting blood from when he had given Sherlock a bloody nose earlier. Sherlock’s hands wrapped around him and gripped the back of John’s jacket for dear life. John’s hands left Sherlock’s shoulders and were about to grip Sherlock’s back when Sherlock hissed and pulled away sharply.

“John…” Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath and let go of John.

“Are you hurt?” John stepped back and inspected Sherlock with kind eyes.

“In a manner of speaking.” Sherlock forced a smile and took one of John’s hands in his. “Home?”

“Home.” John agreed with a nod, squeezing Sherlock’s hand as if making sure he was really there. They walked along in silence for a little while until something dawned on John.

“It was real then…” He glanced over at Sherlock. “All those times, I thought I was fantasizing, or having some grand delusion born out of grief. But they were memories. Memories of a day spent with you… a day I had forgotten.” John glanced up at Sherlock, who nodded silently.

As they walked Sherlock’s breathing became more ragged and forced with each breath. John had to catch him a few times when Sherlock’s legs gave out, causing him to stumble. John let out a sigh of relief as they rounded a corner and stepped onto Baker Street.

“Almost there.” John squeezed Sherlock’s hand again and gently urged Sherlock on. The last few feet seemed to take ages, and it was with great relief that John pushed his key into the lock of 221B. Sherlock straightened up and squared his shoulders, nodding to John that he was ready. After nearly startling Mrs. Hudson to death John finally got Sherlock upstairs and helped him into his chair.

He was about to make tea when he remembered that no one had lived in the flat for two years. So instead he dusted off two glasses and poured each of them a healthy amount of scotch from the cupboard. Sherlock gratefully accepted his glass and they sat in silence for a while.

“How bad?” John finally asked, placing his empty glass on the table beside his chair. Sherlock simply shrugged in answer. “Come here…” John patted his lap, and carefully helped Sherlock situate himself on his lap.

“Can I see?” He asked, brushing a thumb tenderly over Sherlock’s jaw. Sherlock bit his lip and nodded slowly. Slowly, very slowly, John’s fingers pulled apart the buttons on Sherlock’s white dress shirt.

“Sherlock…” John let out a shaky breath and fought back  a sob as the shirt fell to the floor, revealing angry bruises, cuts, welts and fresh stitches over most of Sherlock’s upper body.

“If.. you want to talk…” John began, but had to stop to swallow a lump in his throat.

“I don’t. However I do want you to kiss me.” Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his forehead against John’s.

“Christ…” John failed to hold the tears back as he gently ran a finger over a welt on Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Sherlock… I had… no idea.” Guilt twisted in his gut as he thought back on how much it must have hurt Sherlock when he had shoved him to the floor.

“Shhh…” Sherlock pressed his lips against John’s forehead. “None of that matters now, John.” John's fingers lightly traversed their way over Sherlock's damaged skin, taking inventory of each mark.

"John..." Sherlock eventually cut in softly. "Bed?" He kissed John's forehead again.

"Mmmm..." John nodded slowly, his fingers tracing a particularly nasty welt on Sherlock's back. "Bed. Then in the morning you're going to let your doctor properly address these... And no sex. Not when you're like this."

Sherlock stood and let out a sigh that both said "fine," and "I'm only agreeing to shut you up." He left his shirt where it was, forgotten on the floor at the foot of John's chair, and slowly made his way down the hall to his room. John followed, feeling his heart break in his chest as his eyes finally saw Sherlock's back. Welts, sitting on top of dark purple bruises, lined Sherlock's back as if it were a map of some busy city.

In his room Sherlock changed into a pair or old pajama pants and a t-Shirt and carefully crawled into bed with a soft moan. Without hesitating John stripped to his pants and crawled in after Sherlock. He adjusted the blankets and settled on his back.

"Come here, I don't want to hurt you, so you'll have to cuddle up to me." John bent his left arm up under the pillow and made room for Sherlock. Sherlock made a happy little morning sound and curled his body around John's side, resting his head on the crook of his shoulder with one arm slung over his chest.

"Alright?" John's left hand came down and found its way into Sherlock's hair while his right hand rested on Sherlock's bicep.

"Mm." Sherlock nodded. "First time I've slept in a bed in months." John let out a choked sob and kissed his forehead.

"Then sleep, my love. Nothing is going to hurt you tonight. Nothing but happy dreams for you. I'll watch over you, nothing will touch you." John peppered Sherlock's forehead as silent tears slipped down his face. "I've got you...." He held Sherlock as tight as he dared, both of them desperate for closeness.

"John..." Sherlock kissed John's chest half a dozen times before continuing. "I love you."

"Oh, Sherlock." John sighed. "I love you too. Now sleep, nothing will harm you tonight." John repeated, blinking away the tears.

"Thank you..." Sherlock murmured, already half asleep. With a final sigh that sounded very much like, "comfy" Sherlock nuzzled against John and succumbed to sleep. John laid awake, listening to Sherlock's deep breathing finding it hard, despite the evidence in his arms, to believe that Sherlock was actually back. Eventually, after nearly an hour of watching Sherlock sleep, John closed his eyes and with his nose buried in Sherlock's hair he fell into a fitful sleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock blessedly slept through the night. John, however, woke every few hours to check and see how Sherlock was doing. After the fourth time of waking up, ensuring that Sherlock was in fact still in his arms, John decided to stay awake. It was nearly 6am, that was an hour later than he usually got up, so he propped himself up on a pillow and watched. Sherlock slept peacefully for another hour, but suddenly he began to thrash about on the bed, sucking in sharp breaths as he pulled at his stitches.

"Sherlock..." John held him as close as he dared, desperately not wanting to hurt him. "Sherlock, wake up darling."

"John? Oh, good, you're still here..." Sherlock muttered, his voice hoarse from sleep. He didn't open his eyes, instead he squeezed them shut as if begging the morning to go away and come back later. He nuzzled his face against John's chest and let out a heartbreaking moan. "Don't leave me yet."  Sherlock let out a strangled sob and grabbed John's arm so strongly that it hurt him.

"Need you to stay. Can't do it... Don't want them to come... I hurt so bad..." Sherlock sobbed against John's chest. "Five more minutes with you. Please." Sherlock's pleaded with him in a weak, but desperate voice.

"Sherlock, luv. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. You're home, Baker Street, England. We're in bed..." John bent down and kissed Sherlock's lips, cupping his chin with one of his hands. "Open your eyes, luv, see for yourself. I promise you're safe."

"No..." Sherlock shook his head furiously. "It's a trick, lies... False hope... They're using you against me now." Sherlock began to shake as he broke down sobbing.

"Sherlock...." John said gently, but more firmly than before. "You're home. 221b Baker Street, London, England. The only thing wrong with the picture is we have no tea." He kissed Sherlock again and tilted his chin up a bit as Sherlock's eyes blinked open.

"No tea?" He wiped away the tears and looked up at John. "England will fall..." He looked around the room and smiled weakly. "Home..." He said, as his surroundings sunk in. He looked at John and his smile widened. "And you..." He nearly tackled John in his desperate attempt to smash their lips together. After a moment he pulled away with a scowl.

"What's wrong?" John hastily asked, searching Sherlock desperately with his eyes.

"That has got to go." Sherlock ran his fingers between his nose and upper lip. "Fucking bristly kisses..." He scowled again as John rolled his eyes. "Either you shave it off, or I will."

"Alright... Fine." John huffed good naturedly. "Right after we track down some tea. Do you think we should..." John began to ask.

"Mrs. Hudson will bring us something once she hears us up." Sherlock winced as he tried to sit up. John surged forward and helped his friend.

"Slowly. You tore your stitches in your sleep." John helped Sherlock swing his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat behind Sherlock and inspected the reopened gashes on his back.

"Soon as we've had tea. I need to see to these." He pressed a kiss between Sherlock's shoulders and climbed off the bed. "Come on..." He turned and looked at Sherlock who hadn't budged. "You okay?" He fell to his knees between Sherlock's leg and took his hands, stroking them softly. Sherlock looked down at John and gave him his "for John only" smile.

"I'm home." He sighed softly, tension visibly rolling off of his shoulders.

"Home..." John agreed. "Should celebrate..." John inched closer and ran his hands down Sherlock's thighs. "properly."

"John Watson, if you think you're putting that ridiculous mustache anywhere near my penis, you are very much mistaken." Sherlock gave John a harsh look, but it fell away completely when John buried his nose in Sherlock's crotch.

"But you've gone given me such a lovely idea." He giggled mischievously as he nuzzled his nose against Sherlock's cock. "And look... It's already hard." He looked up grinning. "Now lay back, I think this is a job for your doctor..."

"I prefer my doctors clean shaven..." Sherlock muttered, but settled on his back aways, lifting his hips to help John remove his pajamas and pants. He let out a loud moan as John moved over him and his calloused hand wrapped around the base of his cock.

With slow, but deliberate movements John ran his hand over the length of Sherlock's cock before leaning down and wrapping his lips around the head of it. John's heart gave a little jump of delight at the noises that Sherlock began to make. The breathless moans and grunts quickly turned into full blown cries as John's tongue began to flick over Sherlock's sensitive slit. John pulled off and let out a soft laugh.

"That's right, luv. Going to make you scream my name..." Their eyes met, but instead of returning John's smile Sherlock glared at him.

"If you're going to insist on talking during this, John, at the very least do something with that hand..." Sherlock's head flopped back onto the bed and he let out an exasperated sigh. John rolled his eyes playfully, but dipped his head and in obedience he licked a stripe up the length of Sherlock's cock. With a loud slurping noise he sucked Sherlock's full length into his mouth. He pressed his tongue against the underside of Sherlock's cock and swallowed a few times.

"J-John....." Sherlock gasped and gripped at the blankets with both hands. "For god's sake..."

John grinned. At least he tried too, but with Sherlock filling his mouth it was difficult to do. So instead he showed how pleased he was by humming, sending waves of vibrations down the length of Sherlock's cock.

"John!" Sherlock cried, his hands thrashed over the bed as they searched for purchaser among the tangled blankets. Johns hummed again, and slowly, as his head bobbed up and down, added a twist to every upstroke. With each twist, John swirled his tongue around Sherlock's cock. As John's tongue moved Sherlock's cries became louder and louder until they seemed to echo off the walls in rapid succession.

John sped up his movements and laughed around Sherlock’s cock as the detective’s keens became more and more frantic. With one particularly spectacular twist and suck John’s mouth unexpectedly filled with Sherlock’s warm liquid. Wave after wave filled his mouth, spilling out between his lips before John had a chance to swallow.

John lovingly licked him clean and looked up while wiping his mouth on Sherlock’s discarded pajamas. Sherlock’s  chest was heaving, but his face had a look of pure pleasure written all over it. As John crawled over him, careful not to rest any of his weight on Sherlock’s chest, Sherlock’s face blushed a deep scarlet.

“Hey…” John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s neck and worked his way up and over his jaw until their lips finally met. “Why so bashful?” He asked between kisses, as Sherlock tried to hide his face under a pillow.

“Didn’t exactly last very long, did I?” Sherlock muttered, stealing a kiss and forcing himself to look grumpy.

“Yes, well. It has been just about two years…” John replied and gave him a soft kiss. “God, you’re beautiful. I have half a mind to keep you in the bedroom with me for a full week.” John pushed a sweaty curl off of Sherlock’s forehead and stole another kiss. “So, chances of Mrs. Hudson knowing we’re awake… Think they’re good?” He winked, and ducked as Sherlock threw the pillow at him.

John stood laughing and held a hand out to Sherlock. He help Sherlock up and wrapped his arms gently around his back, pressing soft kisses to Sherlock's lips. 

"Come on, let's go shower. You seemed to have made a mess of both of us." John gave him a playful smile and opened the door to the bathroom. He stepped out of his pants and checked the shower for soap and smiled when he saw Sherlock's expensive bottles of shower gel and shampoo and other products still sitting in the surprisingly clean tub.   
  
"Either Mycroft sent someone to dust, or Mrs. Hudson's been up here." John noted, having expected  cobwebs in the shower from lack of use.  Sherlock scoffed as he stepped in behind John.   
  
"That would be the day... Mycroft thinking of me." John laughed and held a hand out to steady Sherlock as he arched his back in pain.  
  
"How many broken ribs do you have?" He asked, eyeing the purple green bruise that started in the middle of  his chest and wrapped around his left side.   
  
"Best guess. Three." Sherlock sucked in a breath and moaned as he leaned against the shower wall.   
  
"Waters gonna hurt... Ready?" When Sherlock nodded he turned the water on, intending to keep it on the cooler side for Sherlock.   
  
"I've had my share of cold showers, John. I can handle the hot water."  Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes obviously in pain.   
  
"Alright... If it gets to be too much..." John said softly and adjusted the water.   
  
"Yes." Sherlock nodded. "I'll let you know." He stepped into the stream of water and winced as it ran down his back. John watched, itching to do something to help his friend. But soon Sherlock's winces turned into a smile and soft moans of pleasure as he indulged in one of the simple pleasures of life.   
  
"There was a time..." He said sadly as he dragged his fingers through his wet hair, "where I thought I might never feel hot water on my skin again." He looked at John and pulled him close until their hips touched. "And now I get to share a hot shower with you."

  
"Oh, Sherlock..." John reached up and pressed their lips together. "I can't imagine... What you've gone through..."

"For which I am incredibly thankful, John." Sherlock dipped  his head and cupped John's chin in one of his hands. After a moment he pulled away and rubbed at his upper lip. "Seriously, that has got to go."

"Yeah well, not like I have anything to shave with here. We need to do a bit of shopping." He took one look at Sherlock and retracted his statement. "Well, I do. You need to stay here and rest." Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes, and gave John a look that dared him to even try to make him stay at home.

"If you think I'm letting you out of my sight anytime soon, you're in for something else." Sherlock roughly pulled John until he was flush against his body. John placed a hand just beside Sherlock's head on the shower wall to steady himself and let out a content sigh.

"We'd best wash up before the hot water runs out." John said softly as Sherlock placed open mouth kisses on his neck.

"Orr..." Sherlock's deep voice washed over him and one of his slender hands worked its way between their bodies and wrapped around his cock. "We can take just another minute more." He muttered against John's neck.

"Aaahhh..." John moaned, leaning his head back revealing more of his neck for Sherlock to kiss. "Yeah.... Uh.. Just a minute more." He said breathily as Sherlock's lips closed over his adam's apple. Sherlock tugged gently on his cock, causing his knees to go weak and he uttered a strangled moan.

"Mm...." Sherlock chuckled. "Only a minute? Well, if you're sure..." Sherlock dropped his hands to his side and pulled his lips off of John. "Best wash up then."

"Oooohhh no you don't." John cried, grabbing Sherlock's wrist and placing his hand back on his cock. "Don't start something if you won't finish it." He growled and forced Sherlock's hand across his prick.

"Is this what you want?" Sherlock uttered as he squeezed his hand around John’s prick and smirked. John leaned his forehead oh Sherlock's shoulder and grunted as Sherlock pushed his foreskin back gently and ran his thumb over the exposed head.

“Fuck…” John nodded and leaned heavily on his hand.

“Here… Let me…” Sherlock shifted off of the shower wall and maneuvered behind John.  “Mmm that’s better....” Sherlock rested his head on the back of John’s shoulder and snaked a hand around his hips. Long fingers wrapped themselves around John, and the shorter man had to brace himself with both hands against the shower wall.

"Mmmmm... God!" John cried out as Sherlock's hand began to slide across his cock.

"Not quite." Sherlock quipped and kissed the back of John's neck. John grunted his laughter at Sherlock's joke but soon forgot about it as his hips began canting of their own accord. He thrust into Sherlock's fist and let out a long drawn out moan as more memories from his lost Wednesday flooded in.

"We... we've done this before." He panted. "But... Something's missing"

The sound of a bottle opening interrupted his thoughts and just when he was expecting Sherlock to run shower gel over his back two slick fingers pressed between his cheeks. He instinctively tensed and whipped his head around to see what was happening.

"John..." Sherlock kissed his shoulder. "Relax for me." John nodded, turned back around and did his best to relax. Sherlock twisted his fist around his cock and as waves of pleasure coursed through his body two fingers breached his entrance. He hardly had time to focus on the pain before Sherlock's fingers were scissoring and pressing into his prostate.

"Jesus Christ!!" John shouted, knees going weak and almost falling to the floor. He spread his legs a little further and keened when Sherlock added a third finger. "Aahhh...  mmmmfff Sh-erlock." He thrust his hips into Sherlock's fist, and when he pulled back Sherlock's fingers pressed deeper inside him. "Holy fuck..." He cried, pressing his forehead against the shower wall.  

He rocked back and forth, lost in this new level of pleasure for a while. After what only seemed like seconds, but in reality had been nearly 5 minutes, Sherlock withdrew his fingers much to John's dislike. John thrust his ass out and whimpered pathetically at the absence of Sherlock's fingers.

"Sherlock?" He began to ask but his question was answered by the unmistakable feeling of tip of Sherlock's cock pressing up against him.

"May I?" Sherlock asked gently, lavishing the back of John's neck with kisses, sucking marks to his skin.

"Fuck.... Yes." John muttered and he wiggled himself over the head of Sherlock's waiting cock. With a grunt of anticipation Sherlock gripped John's hip with his free hand and with one quick snap of his hips fully bedded himself inside John.

"So bloody tight!" Sherlock exclaimed, still stroking him and biting down on his right shoulder. "Can I move?" John nodded and Sherlock gave a tentative thrust that caused both of them to keen in pleasure.

As Sherlock began to move John's jaw fell open and his pleas for more echoed off the bathroom wall. Sherlock found a steady rhythm and matched his movements with his hand to his thrusts. John steadied himself a bit on his feet, and the inch or so he shifted changed the angle such that Sherlock was now pushing against his prostate.

"Mmmfffffffuuuccckkk..." John breathed and a string of drool fell from his open mouth. "Faster... C-can you manage a bit faster?" He leaned his head back and arched his back.

"Can..." Sherlock grunted. "But then the fun will be over..." Sherlock sank his teeth into John's neck and groaned.

"Faster..." John pleaded as he fucked Sherlock's fist.

Sherlock obliged. His hand tightened on John's hip and he slammed into John as hard as he dared, being mindful of his injuries. Only a few moments into this new pace Sherlock grunted and felt the familiar pull as his bollocks tightened, warning him of his pending orgasm.

"John.. I need.." Sherlock panted against John's back. "Going too..."

"Me too..." John nodded his head and rocked back against Sherlock. Sherlock came first, with a final thrust he filled John with his cum and collapsed against his back. With one final twist of his hand he sent John over the edge. John came with a silent moan and his whole body twitched beneath Sherlock's. The taller man wrapped his arms around John's stomach and held him through the tremors of their orgasms.

"Fuuucckk.." John breathed, pushing himself off of the shower wall, shivering a little when Sherlock's now soft prick slipped out of him. He turned and pressed his chest against Sherlock's. "That was... Incredible."

"Mmmm..." Sherlock agreed happily, though a bit exhausted.

"Alright?" John's pulled away and ran an assessing eye over his mate.

"Never better." Sherlock winked and straightened. "Just a bit... Drunk off of multiple orgasms."

John moved closer to the faucets and tried to adjust the water, it came out hotter, but only slightly.

"We'd best hurry. Hot water is nearly gone."

A few minutes later as they were drying off Sherlock looked up at John with a smirk.

"What?" John furrowed his brows and looked down at his legs and feet. "What's so funny?"

"Well, if Mrs. Hudson didn't know we were awake before, she certainly knows now."

"We were... Ah, a bit loud, weren't we." John blushed slightly as he wrapped his towel around his hips.

"A bit. Yes." Sherlock smirked again and walked naked into his bedroom.

"I've uh, got some clothes upstairs still. Going to go change." John lingered at the door for a moment and watched as Sherlock changed. "Be alright for a moment?"

"Yes, John. I can manage on my own." Sherlock said, but he glanced up with a smile.

"Right." John nodded. He felt Sherlock's eyes watching him until he was out of sight. Up in his room John rummaged through his clothes, picked out the least musty smelling ones, and changed. He had never intended to leave anything here, but it had become harder and harder to come back for the rest of his stuff. He now found himself thankful for that, as he threw his oatmeal jumper on over his shirt.

Dressed, he made his way back downstairs and found Sherlock standing in the middle of the sitting room talking to Mrs. Hudson, who was just placing a tray of tea and biscuits on the table.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson you're a saint!" John beamed happily at her.  She in turn glanced at him and with a slight giggle blushed.

"Er..." John blushed back and scratched the back of his head. "Sorry about the noise."

Mrs. Hudson waved off his apology with another giggle and smiled. "Always knew I'd have a noise problem when you two stopped messing about the obvious. Though," she added with a wink, "perhaps I'll invest in a pair of earplugs."

She fussed with the tray for a few moments then poured them each their tea. After standing back and beaming happily at Sherlock she clapped her hands together and made a set of noises that could only be explain as excited cooing.

"You'll need food! Want me to do the shopping?" She opened her eyes wide when Sherlock sat down and began eating a biscuit without being told to eat. "I'll make a roast for dinner, to celebrate having my boys back home."

"How about we do the shopping for once, Mrs. H?" John say across from Sherlock and cupped his tea in both hands. "We'll come get your list in a bit. We have a few other errands to run today." She nodded her agreement, watched them for a few moments then looked about the flat.

"So dusty..." Sherlock's eyes flashed in her direction and he glared at her.

"Oh Sherlock, do you seriously want to be living in two years worth of dust? No. Not in my house." With that she bustled down the stairs humming to herself.

"You're letting her dust?" John put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, eyebrows raised.

"Yes. Well." Sherlock shrugged as if that was a good enough answer. "Where too first today?" He asked, though by his tone he already knew the answer.

"The clinic." John said firmly.

"Can't just patch me up here?" Sherlock huffed in annoyance.

"Could, but won't. Everything I need is there." John sipped his tea and let out a little moan, happy to change the subject he muttered, "Best tea in London." He took another sip and savored the flavor.

"In all of England." Sherlock corrected, deeply inhaling his tea. John made a soft noise in agreement and together they sat in silence until the tea and most of the biscuits were gone.

"Right..." John stood and glanced at Sherlock. "Shall we?"

"If we must." Sherlock sighed and pushed his chair away from the table.

"Bit cold to walk to the tube, let's take a cab." John murmured, mainly to himself as he gathered their coats.

"Could call Mycroft, have him send a car?" Sherlock offered, wincing as John helped him put his coat on.

"No, cab is fine." John shook his head and watched as Sherlock out his scarf on. It was blue, just like the other scarf, but John knew it wasn't the same one he had been wearing when he jumped. He knew because he had that scarf and coat among his things at Mary's. "Should go to Mary's get my stuff... Not sure I want Mycroft's minions watching." Sherlock nodded understandingly and lead the way down the stairs. They stopped off for Mrs. Hudson's grocery list as promised and stepped out into the chilly morning air.

At the clinic, John first went to find his boss, explained the situation and apologized for missing work. Apparently having a friend come back from the dead, in need of medical attention was a good enough reason to miss work, because his boss was not mad. Instead he told John to do whatever he needed for Sherlock, and take as much time off as needed.

"Uh, thanks." John was shocked, he thought for sure that he would have at least gotten written up for missing work. "Is, uh, Mary in?"

"No, thought you knew that." His boss looked surprised. "Phoned this morning, family emergency back home. Didn't know how long she'd be gone."

"Huh.. No. But it's all been rather crazy since last night... With Sherlock and all." John shrugged and did his best not to seem relieved. Without wasting anymore time John went back to the waiting room where Sherlock was and motioned for him to follow. Sherlock stepped into his office and glanced around.

"You should quit." He sat in John's chair and took his scarf off. "You're obviously bored here."

"What makes you say that?" John asked, shutting the door behind him and pointing to the examination bed.

"Because." Sherlock rolled his eyes but moved from John's chair to the bed. "Stuffed bear, on your desk. Clearly trying to brighten the room..." John just shook his head in reply and moved to Sherlock's side, gently tugging at his coat.

"You'll need to strip, waist up." John made to help Sherlock take his coat off but the detective glared at him.

"Shave." Sherlock held his coat about his neck and glared. "Or I'll start screaming and scare the other patients away."

"You wouldn't..." John hissed. Sherlock sucked in a lungful of air and was about to shout when John clamped a hand over his mouth. "Believe me or not, I don't keep personal items here. I'll shave when we get home, now if you would behave for one moment, I'd like to at the very least bandage your back!" John's voice grew in volume until he was nearly shouting and Sherlock stared up at him with a smirk.

"Aahhh... There he is..." Sherlock's smirk grew into a grin and he allowed John to take his coat off.

"There who is, Sherlock?" John practically snapped as he held his hand out for Sherlock's suit jacket.

"Captain Watson..." Sherlock winked and began to unbutton his dress shirt. "Push the right buttons, and he comes out to play." It took John a full minute to read Sherlock's expression, and when he finally understood he stopped in his tracts and shook his head.

"Fucking horny bastard!" He explained and slapped Sherlock's hand as Sherlock started to undo his trousers. "Waist up. We're not having sex here."

"And why not?" Sherlock shrugged, fingers moving back to the front of his trousers. "Could give me one of those gowns, the kind that don't close in the back."

"Sherlock Holmes..." John began, but decided reasoning wasn't going to get him anywhere so he grabbed Sherlock's wrists and placed his hands flat on the bed. "Stay still. I shouldn't have let you... You know..." His voice trailed off and Sherlock smirked at him.

"No, I don't. Tell me."

"Oh for god's sake!" John exclaimed. "Should not have let you fuck me in the shower. Your back is a mess, and you've pulled out some of your stitches. And that isn't even considering your ribs."

"So you're saying you wish we hadn't had sex?" Sherlock looked hurt and John bent down hurriedly to kiss him.

"No, not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is you're hurt, and it's my job to take care of you. So let me take care of you." Sherlock returned the kiss and nodded. "I wouldn't trade this morning for anything."

Sherlock smiled and placed his hands on John's sides.

"Right, I'll behave, but on one condition."

"What's that, luv?" John asked as the rested his forehead on Sherlock's.

"Once I'm healed enough, we spend at least a day in bed together."

"Just one?" John chuckled and gently kissed Sherlock's cheek. As he moved out of Sherlock's hold he ran his hand over Sherlock's face and gave a deep sigh. "Can't believe you're home..." He leaned in for one more kiss and nearly jumped out of his skin as his mobile chimed sharply from his pocket. "Your brother..." He muttered, holding the screen so Sherlock could read the message.

**I've forwarded the results of Sherlock's X-Ray to your work email.**

"How the blood hell did he know we were here?" John fought back his anger and sat down hard in his chair and turned the computer on.

"Considering I spent the last three months being tortured in a Serbian prison, he's bound to have a watchful eye on me."

"Bloody fantastic..." John grumbled as he opened the email addressed from Mycroft, ignoring the one from Mary. There was a soft rustle of paper and trousers as Sherlock stood up and moved to stand behind him. Sherlock bent down slightly and leaned over John, resting a hand on his shoulder. John glanced at the pale fingers draped over his shoulder and smiled before returning his attention to the screen.

"Three, just as I thought." Sherlock pointed to the 5th, 6th and 7th rib on his left side.

"Yes, but this one," John pointed to the 6th rib. "you've got two breaks and a hairline fracture." He pointed these out to Sherlock and felt Sherlock's breath on his neck as the detective huffed.  "They look old, this one is already starting to heal they're what, two... Three weeks old?" John looked at Sherlock who nodded silently.

"Sherlock... Don't suppose I can talk you into taking some painkillers?" He covered the hand on his shoulder with one of his and glanced up again.

"Addict..." Sherlock shook his head firmly. "Not a good idea."

"I can help…” John whispered softly swiveling in his chair to face Sherlock.

"John..." Sherlock sighed and his expression gave away just how worried he was.

"Sherlock, your pain must be incredible. Please..." He said gently, standing up and wrapping his arms loosely around Sherlock's hips. "Let me help. Something with codeine, it can be less addicting. And I'll cut you off the second it's becoming an issue."

"Alright." Sherlock nodded slowly and leaned into John's embrace. "Yes, but a low dose."

"Thank you." John reached up and planted a kiss on Sherlock's lips. "Now go lie facedown on the table."  

Sherlock huffed his annoyance but did as he was asked. He crawled onto the bed, folded his arms and rested his head on his hands. John bit his lip, donned on a pair of gloves, and grimly set to work. The time passed slowly, but neither of them spoke. John slowly and carefully cleaned and bandaged the wounds he could, then with tight lips he set about fixing Sherlock’s torn stitches.

“There…” he said quietly as he discarded his gloves.” Would you like me to wrap your chest?” He helped Sherlock sit up and placed a kiss to the middle of his forehead. “Might offer a bit of relief.” Sherlock shifted slightly and gave a small nod so John rummaged through a drawer until he found what he was looking for.

He turned back to Sherlock with a long bandage and a sling and pretended he didn’t see Sherlock’s scowl. He gently wrapped Sherlock’s chest, helped Sherlock back into his clothes and added the sling.

“This stays on. At least keep in on when I’m around.”  He cupped Sherlock’s face in both his hands and pressed their lips together. “You alright to go shopping, or should I drop you off at home?”

“I’m alright. I’ll be better after sex…” Sherlock added, wrapping his legs around John’s hips.

“No…” John’s eyes fluttered shut and after a momentary lapse in judgement John shook his head firmly. “Especially not while you’re wearing a sling, and more so after you’ve agreed to take pain killers.”

“Hm…” Sherlock pouted and allowed John to help him into his coat. John buttoned the top few buttons so if draped around Sherlock’s neck like a cape, resting over his arm. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“No, that I can’t.” John agreed as he placed Sherlock’s scarf around his neck. He sat briefly at his desk and scribbled something on a script pad. “Right… let’s get this,” he pocketed the script and stood, “then get the shopping.”  Just as they were leaving a thought came to John and he grabbed up a bag and quickly stuffed it full of gauze, bandages, and various antibacterial creams.

John saw to it that their shopping expedition didn't take long, and it was just over an hour later when they walked back into 221b. John sent Sherlock upstairs with clear instructions to take his coat off and go sit down while he went to see Mrs. Hudson.

After a few trips up the stairs John put the food away and with a swan of satisfaction he made each of them a cup of tea. He walked into the sitting room and found Sherlock Sitting on the sofa nearly asleep.

"Here, luv." Sherlock opened his eyes and gratefully accepted the tea.

"You never went to Mary's" he muttered, having the decency to at least pretend he'd forgotten about it.

"Yes. Well..." John sighed and sat down hard next to Sherlock. "It would appear that she's disappeared, or at least told work she'd be out of town. And I think we've both had enough for one day. Don't you?"

"Mmm." Sherlock agreed and rested his side against John's. "Tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow." John agreed.

"Did you read her email?" Sherlock asked a short while later.

"Hmm?" John looked up from the spot on the rug he'd been focused on. "No. Didn't see a need." He shrugged and have a small sigh and went back to staring at the rug.

"There's something about her, John. Something wrong. Something she was hiding from me." Sherlock mused into his tea. John nodded. As soon as she hadn't put up a fight when he closed the taxi door he knew something wrong wrong.

"Almost like... She was using me." John glanced at Sherlock and found him staring intently at him. "But why? You were dead, and there isn't anything spectacular about me worth getting at."

"I don't know." Sherlock scrunched up his face and huffed in annoyance. "I don't like not knowing." John raised his eyebrows  in agreement and leaned against the back of the sofa.

"Well." He uttered, looking over at Sherlock. "She doesn't matter now. All that matters is getting you healed up. As long as you don't get sick, should take about 4 weeks or so..."

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

"Sherlock. Just get the door!" John snapped as Sherlock tried to help him up the stairs with the tree.

"John, you gave me a clean bill of health, that's why we went out to get this bloody Christmas tree." Sherlock raised the tip of the tree a few inches, as if John couldn't see it.  "To celebrate" Sherlock stood, still holding the tip of the netting wrapped tree up and glared at John.

"Yes, but if you look, Sherlock," John hissed between his teeth. "we're at the top of the stairs. So unless you plan on taking this up to my old room, get the bloody door!" John didn't mean to snap, but the tree was nearly too wide for the stairs, and getting it up had been a hassle. His arms hurt, and he was pretty sure he'd be tasting pine for a week.

"Oh." Sherlock grinned sheepishly as he put the tree down and hurried past John to the door.

"Oh." John said in a slightly mocking tone, but after a few seconds despite himself he shook his head and laughed. "I bloody love you, you idiot."

"Mmm love you too." Sherlock chuckled, opening the door behind John and stepped out of his way. "Right, doors opened. Do you..." Sherlock was about to ask John if he needed further assistance when John heaved the tree into the room and stared triumphantly at it.

"Got it!" John grinned, dropped the tree and pulled Sherlock tightly into his arms in a vain attempt to spin him around the room. When that didn't work very well he settled for a kiss.

"Oi!" Sherlock exclaimed with a sour face. "You taste like pine!"

"Oh, right. Sorry." John kissed Sherlock on the cheek and turned back to the tree. "Where should we put this thing?"

We'll move the table upstairs for now." Sherlock hurried to the table and began to clear it off. He was just about to take a chair upstairs when John stopped him with a look.

"You'll keep the kitchen table clear of experiments?" He raised his eyebrow and looked at Sherlock expectantly.  

"For how long?" Judging by Sherlock's look, which was a mix of panic and annoyance, he didn't like the idea.

"Just until the tree is gone. Not even a month." John plead with Sherlock, they needed a table, but they also needed the space for this too big for their flat tree.

"I could..." Sherlock chewed on his lip for a moment deep in thought. "could conduct my experiments upstairs, seeing you don't require the space anymore."

"Mm" John tried not to show just how much he liked this idea. "Yes, you could." He picked up the other chair and nodded to the stairs. "Shall we?"

Twenty minutes later the tree was set up in the middle of the room. John beamed happily at it, while Sherlock fussed with the branches, claiming it wasn't positioned right and he wanted to turn the tree.

"Sherlock, luv... We've turned the tree... Four, no five times." John pulled at Sherlock's elbow and dragged him away from the tree. "Can we just decorate it now?" Sherlock's eyes lit up and he nodded enthusiastically as he dashed to the corner where their Christmas decorations were stacked in boxes. The sun was just setting by the time they'd finished decorating both the tree and the room, and John's stomach was making a terrible growling noise.

"Takeaway?" Sherlock asked as he pulled out his phone. John nodded gratefully as Sherlock called their favorite Chinese place and ordered what sounded like everything on the menu. He was just pocketing his phone when Mrs. Hudson entered the room carrying a box.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, eyeing the freshly decorated room. "I brought you boys some decorations, but...." She nodded to the fireplace then to the tree with a pleased smile, "seems you boys have been busy." She placed the box down on the floor next to John’s chair and began fussing with the tree.

“Leave it to you two….” She muttered, “to put up a crooked tree.” With that Sherlock turned to John with a triumphant look and stuck out his tongue.

“Oh… Sod off…” John growled and tossed an ornament at Sherlock's head.

 

** Later that night. **

 

Despite his excitement John flopped into bed with a sigh. It was a happy, content sigh as he rolled onto his side and watched as Sherlock slowly entered the room. John smiled up at him and patted the bed, just like he had done every night since he'd come back to Baker Street. But instead of moving closer, Sherlock stood there and watched John cautiously.

"Alright, luv?" John was on his feet and standing in front of Sherlock in an instant, looking him over carefully. "Are you still in pain? Withdrawals?" He asked hurriedly, thinking perhaps he'd given Sherlock a clean bill of health too soon, or he'd missed the signs of addiction.

"No, not hurt. And…” Sherlock added softly, “no withdrawals." Sherlock shook his head. "It's just..." He wrapped his arms around John and pressed their bodies together. "Everything I've ever wanted, is right here..." John leaned up and sighed happily against Sherlock's lips.

"Come to bed, darling." John took Sherlock's hand and pulled him the few feet to the edge of the bed. Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled and settled on his side looking shell shocked.

"Sherlock..." John kissed his cheek and tried not to laugh. "It's just like every other night."

"Except tonight..." Sherlock swallowed and cleared his throat and settled in more comfortably. "is the start of..." His voice faltered and John's heart broke for him. John rolled onto his ask and no sooner did he opened his arms for Sherlock, was the detective already curling up in his chest.

"We don't have to have sex." John kissed the top of Sherlock's head and stroked his back. His fingers dancing across the now familiar scars.

"I want sex." Sherlock looked up sharply and raised himself a few inches so he was leaning over John. "It's just..." He sighed and rested his forehead on John's collarbone. "Everything I've ever wanted..."

"Don't want to jinx it?" John nodded in understanding and circled his arms around Sherlock. "Well, I'm not going anywhere." He pulled Sherlock close and cupped his chin in his right hand.

"Come here...." He whispered gently. He cupped Sherlock’s chin in his hand and tilted his face up for a kiss and as their lips met all of Sherlock's hesitation melted away. Sherlock nipped at John's lips and John let out an excited moan when he remembered he didn't have to be overly careful of Sherlock's injuries.

Their kiss became more heated as John swiped his tongue over Sherlock's lips and Sherlock's mouth parted. Their tongues met and John's hands began their own exploration of Sherlock's body.

One of John's hands gripped Sherlock's hair and pulled at his head until with a whimper their mouths fell apart. But before Sherlock had time to complain John was fingering the freckles on Sherlock's neck. And then with a moan his mouth claimed each one.  Sherlock went limp at the contact so John rolled him onto his back and crawled over him.

His lips never left Sherlock's neck as he traced a pattern over Sherlock's skin. Sherlock's hands flew to John's back and tugged at his night shirt. Sherlock slipped his fingers under the hem of the shift and gathered the shirt up as he pulled it to John's shoulders. With one more tug John got the hint and pulled himself off of Sherlock long enough to allow his shirt to be removed.

Hands roamed and groped, clothes flew across the room, and with a breathless laugh John fell back into Sherlock’s arms. He slowly dragged a hand up Sherlock’s left leg and smirked when he cupped Sherlock’s groin and Sherlock blushed a deep scarlet. As if icing on the cake, John expertly circled his tongue over the pulse point on the detective’s neck.

“John….” Sherlock’s eyes blew open wide and John’s name was uttered as a low guttural moan.

“Shhh…” John softly kissed just below Sherlock’s left ear then leaned up to look directly into his lover’s eyes. “I’ve got you… let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Mmmm…” Sherlock gave a small nod and rocked his hips against John’s hand.

“That’s it love…” John praised and pulled his body away from Sherlock’s as he leaned towards the nightstand while gently rolling his left  hand over Sherlock’s groin in time with his movements. John’s right hand rummaged through the drawer and he gave an exuberant sigh when his fingers wrapped around the tube of lube. Sherlock let out a little whine as John removed his left  hand but  John just chuckled and gave him an encouraging kiss on the lips. “Hold on a tick… It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

John squirted a liberal amount of lube into the palm of his left hand then gently took Sherlock’s erection between his fingers, spreading  the warming liquid over length. He wrapped his entire hand around Sherlock's cock and locked lips with his lover, capturing the low moan that escaped through Sherlock’s parted lips. With slow but expert movements John swiped his thumb up and over the tip of Sherlock’s cock. The movement sent waves of pleasure coursing through the detective’s body, causing him to shake and twitch.

Sherlock’s left hand left the blankets and found its way to the back of John’s head, his fingers sunk into John’s hair and Sherlock’s tongue explored it’s way into John’s mouth. Sparks erupted at the back of John’s skull as Sherlock’s tongue flicked tentitively at first, against his but with each passing second it became more and more confident in its movements. John moaned and swung his legs over Sherlock’s hips and loosened his grip on Sherlock’s cock.

He pressed his hips against Sherlock’s and slid his cock over Sherlock’s and closed his fist around both of them. Sherlock pulled away briefly to glance down at John’s fist. His eyes fluttered at the sight for a second before letting out a soft moan and locking his lips back with John’s.

“God… John…” Sherlock muttered against John’s mouth and flicking his hips up into John’s hand. John moaned blissfully and tightened his hand around their cocks. He then began to rock slowly, the sweet friction caused their kisses to grow sloppy as their moans filled the room, neither of them bothering to have any consideration for Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock reached down with his right hand and, smirking, grabbed a fist full of John’s plush arse, letting his nails bite into John’s tender skin. John quickened his movements and began to slide his hand across their lengths. With a sharp cry Sherlock sucked John’s bottom lip into his mouth and bit down.

“John…” He uttered around John’s lip, let go and threw his head back against the bed. His left hand left John’s hair and dragged a pillow over his face in a desperate attempt to hide his blush.

“No…” John whispered, quickening his movements. “I want to see you… Want to see your face.”  John rested his weight on Sherlock’s chest and cupped the side of his face. “Look at me darling.” John’s voice was thick with emotion and his tone caused Sherlock to peak out over the top of the pillow. “That’s it… You’re gorgeous.” Sherlock blushed even deeper and soon the only noises he was able to make were soft moans.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you, luv.” John kissed along Sherlock’s jaw and Sherlock let out a low happy hum. Their movements went from a smooth rocking motion and became rough and uneven as they desperately rutted together. John tightened his grip yet again and swiped his fingers over their tips.

Sherlock’s fingernails dug into John’s skin and moments later a warm liquid spilled over John’s hand. Upon watching Sherlock come completely undone beneath him John’s heart gave a triumphant flutter and he too found his release. John wiped the sweat off of his forehead and fell completely collapsed on top of Sherlock with a short laugh.

“That was…” John laughed as he nuzzled his nose under Sherlock’s ear. “fantastic.”

“Yes, but we didn’t…” Sherlock rolled onto his side and pressed his nose against John’s. “Didn’t…”

“Fuck?” John asked gently.

“Mmmm…” Sherlock nodded and kissed the side of John’s face.

“Don’t have to do everything at once…” John stroked the side of Sherlock’s face and spoke softly. “We have the rest of our lives together. No need to rush anything. Didn’t you enjoy it?”

“Oh God yes…” Sherlock nodded his head sharply. “Every minute of it. I enjoy every moment spent with you, John.” Sherlock yawned and pulled John’s hips flush against his. “Sleep now… we’ll clean up in the morning.”

“Right.” John laughed and pulled the blankets up over them.

“I want to have sex, real sex, John… in the morning. Promise me?”

“Or...” John grinned and pulled Sherlock’s head down until his chin was resting on top of it. “We could wait.”

“For what?” Sherlock’s voice was sluggish with sleep.

“For our wedding night.”John grinned and kissed Sherlock’s curls.

“Our… you mean…”

“Mmmhmm…”

“Okay.” Sherlock kissed John’s chest and pressed his body as close as he could against John’s.

“Goodnight, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, John.”

 

 


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four Months Later

John tossed their bags down on the bed and sighed.

“Can’t believe it…” He turned and was just in time to see Sherlock closing in on him, wrapping his long arms around his waist and pulling John’s hips until their lower halves were flush together. John rested his forearms against Sherlock’s chest and fiddled with Sherlock’s bowtie.

“Almost a shame… taking these off.” He let his eyes roam over Sherlock’s body. “You do look fantastic in a suit. Ah well, can’t be helped.” John smirked and seductively bit the corner of his lip while he gave the bowtie a firm yank.

“John…” Sherlock grinned and dipped his head while pulling John’s chin up to meet him. Their lips brushed together and John let out a small sigh.

“Suppose we should open this first?” Sherlock pulled a pearly envelope out of his breast pocket and held it between them.

“Alright, yes.” John sighed dejectedly but pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek before moving to sit on the bed. Sherlock sat next to him and turned the envelope over in his hands. On the front in silver ink, written in perfect calligraphy, was “Doctor and Mr. Watson-Holmes.”

“Nice of your brother. Not showing up and all.” John muttered sarcastically as Sherlock began tearing the envelope open.”

“Mmm yes. I quite enjoyed it. None of his nose, sticking where it didn’t belong.” Sherlock flashed John a childlike grin and pulled a card out of envelope. Sherlock let the envelop fall the the floor as he flicked open the card. In it were a few lines, written in the same hand.

_ “I have seen to it personally that Ms. Morstan, an assassin for hire, will not be an issue. You have my word that she has left England. _

_Congratulations on the marriage boys. I’ve only been waiting for this for four years._

_ -MH _

_ P.s. All expenses accrued on your honeymoon have been taken care of.” _

 

“Well,” John exclaimed, ignoring the new information about Mary and taking the card out of Sherlock's hand placing it on the floor next to the discarded envelope. “that was generous of him.”

“Mm, quite.” Sherlock agreed pivoting in his seat to turn and face John.

“Where were we?” John asked, running a hand lightly down Sherlock's arm. “Ah yes…. If I'm not mistaken, I was about to undress my husband.”

“No. Not mistaken.” Sherlock breathed, allowing John to push him down on the bed.

John followed Sherlock onto the bed and sat astride Sherlock's waist. He placed both his hands flat on Sherlock's chest and smiled down at the lanky man. Sherlock flicked his hips and slowly ran his tongue over his lips.

“Well?” He asked as he gripped John's arse with both hands. “Are we going to make love now?”

“Oh god yes.” John leaned down and pressed his lips to his husband’s.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! :) Comments are VERY welcome. They let me know that I didn't spend countless hours creating this for nothing! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has made it this far!


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